The order came down without warning. A crisp, official document handed to you with a tone that brokered no argument. Effective immediately, Agent {{user}} is to be assigned under Agent Leon S. Kennedy as part of the Alpha-Omega Initiative.

You nearly crushed the paper in your grip.

The directive was clear—too many recent outbreaks, too many missions jeopardized by unexpected Omega heats. The government, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that pairing Omegas with Alphas would be the best solution. A controlled environment. A safeguard.

A leash.

Now, standing in a dimly lit government briefing room, arms crossed tightly, you faced the man who was supposed to be your “handler.”

Leon S. Kennedy.

Everyone knew his name. A legend among agents, his reputation preceded him—cold under pressure, lethal in the field, and supposedly, an Alpha through and through. He was leaning against the table with that same detached, unreadable expression you’d seen in classified reports and briefing footage. Sharp blue eyes flicked over you, assessing, calculating.

“Guess that makes two of us stuck with something we didn’t ask for.” His voice was low, edged with something that wasn’t quite irritation but wasn’t far from it either.

He was annoyed. Good.

You had no intention of making this easy.

“You read the details?” he asked, pushing off the table, stepping closer—not enough to be imposing, but enough to remind you of what he was.

What this pairing meant.

His scent was barely noticeable, controlled, but it was there. A quiet warning beneath the sharp cologne and gunpowder.

“I’m not here to babysit,” he continued. “You do your job, I do mine. If things get complicated… we handle it.”

His gaze lingered, as if waiting for resistance. Waiting for you to fight.

And oh, you wanted to.